


Touchdown

by Mix Stitch (Synph)



Category: DCU - Comicverse
Genre: American Football, Flirting, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-25
Updated: 2013-06-25
Packaged: 2017-12-16 04:17:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/857685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synph/pseuds/Mix%20Stitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim participates in a game day tradition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touchdown

Of course, Tim has his own Gotham Rogues’ jersey.

In his own size even.

Tim has been following the team since he was six and trying to impress his dad with his ability to rattle off stats faster than most of his fellow first-graders could sing the alphabet song. The desire to impress anyone with that sort of dedication has mostly died down over the years, but Tim’s love of American football has managed to last longer than most of his other hobbies and interests.

So yeah, Tim has his own jersey. That doesn’t mean that stealing Jason’s jersey out of one of his dresser drawers is any less of an option.

Tim’s shirt is nearly in mint condition. He’s worn it once, he thinks, and that was only to try it on in the store to make sure that it fit. After that, he’s kept the shirt folded neatly on one of the high shelves of the walk-in closet in the master suite, just high enough that he’d have to stretch to pull it down and wear it. Not even Bruce’s offers to have the team quarterback autograph his jersey have managed to get Tim to take it down.

Besides, Jason’s jersey is different.

Better.

For one thing, despite Jason’s haphazard approach to doing laundry, the shirt has only faded slightly in some places.

Compared to how some of Jason’s other clothes now look, it’s next to perfect. The black of the body has the barest hint of grey while the vivid gold accents look faded to an almost buttery yellow. Well-worn and relatively well cared for, Jason’s Rogue’s jersey isn’t just a nice reminder of what he and Tim have in common. Tim doesn’t make a point to sneak the shirt out of Jason’s things because of the way the shirt serves to almost flash Tim back to their brief periods of communal downtime.

No, Tim filches Jason’s jersey because of the implications of possession and the positive results of Jason seeing Tim in his clothes. Sure, the shirt is comfortable for all that it hangs off of Tim’s slight frame, but that’s really not why Tim wraps himself up in it even if they’re in the middle of baseball season instead of football season.

When Tim wears Jason’s jersey, it’s like he’s wearing a glaring sign broadcasting their relationship. It’s a sign that says that not only does he belong to Jason in the best way possible, but that Jason belongs to him in return.

*

When Tim comes out of the bathroom with his hair wet and curling faintly around his ears, he’s already wearing Jason’s jersey and his oldest, most comfortable pair of boxers. The noise of the championship game preshow blares from the extensive sound system set up in the living room, thumping through the surprisingly thin interior walls of their penthouse apartment as though their downstairs neighbors haven’t filed several complaints against them before for the noise.

“We’re going to get written up again,” Tim says before he’s even in the living room. Crossing his arms over the gold lettering on the front of his jersey, Tim waits patiently for Jason to notice his presence and face him from his seat on the couch. “Do you want to have to pay a fine to the board because of another noise complaint? Turn it down, Jay.”

Jason snorts and lifts a hand to wave away Tim’s comment.

“It’s fine,” he says, already turning to look at Tim. “They can just —” When Jason sees Tim standing in the doorway that leads away from the living room down to the apartments’ two bedrooms, his sentence dies off and his mouth hangs open. Even though he’s seen Tim wearing his jersey a dozen times in the past year alone, Jason still winds up stunned into silence when he sees Tim with the Rogue’s jersey hanging down around his thighs.

“Are you even wearing pants under there?” Jason’s eyes flick over Tim’s body, gaze lingering at Tim’s waist as though he’s suddenly developed x-ray vision. In the background, the game starts to play, but Jason stares as though Tim’s the one up for a championship trophy, eyes darkening with desire.

“What do  _you_  think, Jay,” Tim asks as he shakes his head hard enough to send water droplets flying from the tips of his damp hair. “Unlike you, I actually  _like_ wearing pants.”

Tim rolls his eyes and then starts to walk across the living room on still-damp feet that squeak slightly over the hardwood flooring. He feels Jason’s stare on his skin like a weight he can’t shove off and honestly, he doesn’t really want to.

Knowing that Jason wants him — that Jason can’t take his eyes off of him despite the game playing on their gigantic flatscreen set — makes Tim smile and add a little something extra to the faint swing of his narrow hips.

Jason licks his lips as Tim drags out every single step he takes and pushes one huge hand through his faintly curly black hair. “I think you should hurry up,” he says in a low tone as he watches Tim get closer to the couch with hunger gleaming in his eyes. “The game’s already starting and you’re not in my lap like usual. Work on changing that and I’ll think about turning down the game.”

“Let me get this straight,” Tim says as a small smile curves up the corners of his mouth. “You’ll consider doing something to keep us from getting more noise complaints, but only if I sit in your lap?” He laughs softly and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous, Jason. It’s just a jersey…”

Jason utters a loud snorting noise. “Liar,” he says, smiling fondly at Tim. “If it was, you’d be wearing your own.” Patting the couch, he gives Tim a  _look_. “I already think you’re the best thing on two legs so why don’t you can it with the strut and come sit down with me?”

This time when Tim smiles, there’s nothing small about it.

“You’re like that lecherous wolf from those old cartoons Steph can’t get enough of,” Tim teases. But that doesn’t stop Tim from climbing into Jason’s lap like he belongs there. Ignoring the game playing on behind him, Tim presses a quick kiss to Jason’s wide mouth before leaning back and sitting on Jason’s thick thighs. “Now will you please turn it down?”

Jason smirks and gets one big hand on Tim’s hip underneath the light fabric of his jersey. He strokes Tim’s scarred up skin with his thumb as he reaches for the remote with his free hand. “Only because you asked so nicely.” 


End file.
